


Enough.

by orphan_account



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Early Mornings, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Kinda, Like that's all this is, Love, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Secret Relationship, Sexual Humor, Sleepiness, Some Humor, maybe a dash of angst but not really, mention of murder but it's brief, this is basically just an excuse to write soft anxceit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-19 06:28:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22839928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Sides and sleep have a strange relationship, putting a strain on their work, their relationships, and even their very existence. But, even though it is a frustrating, exhausting existence—unpredictable in every way—they make it work.Virgil just wishes this particular fact of his life didn’t cause him to wake up at three in the morning.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Deceit Sanders
Comments: 1
Kudos: 110





	Enough.

Sleep is an odd concept for the Sides.

Not because they don’t sleep, of course—it’s not like they could operate all the time, after all. Doing so would be detrimental to Thomas’ health, and considering how all-nighters had affected them, would almost be enough to destroy them (or at the very least leave them vulnerable to debilitating illnesses). And it’s not like they have issues _falling_ asleep, either; Thomas has a whole Function dedicated to it, one who’s more than welcome to the idea of “working his magic,” as he likes to call it, so any problems falling asleep can be solved with a quick visit to the Fuction’s room and a few hours spent lying on Remy’s couch.

So no, the issue is not sleep itself—the oddity comes with the _scheduling_ of the matter.

The most glaring example is the twins. Night or day, hours or days at a time, it doesn’t matter; if there are ideas to be made and fun to be had, they’re awake—and of course, because of the very nature of the situation, this often leads them to fall asleep at odd, spontaneous times. It’s common for one or the other—or, hell, maybe even both at once—to be utterly _wired_ , only to snap like a rubber band and collapse for a few hours of shut-eye before they shake themselves awake and continue with whatever they’d been doing before. Though lending itself to some close calls with creatures in the Imagination or the Sides’ own weapons, the others have grown used to catching them before they hurt themselves, always keeping an extra eye out for signs of wariness in the brothers.

Patton has it almost as bad, though they suspect that it has to do with him encompassing Thomas’ emotions and morality than anything else. When he’s not focused on keeping Thomas’ feelings in check, he’s working with Logan to help with decision-making or with the brothers to help keep the tone of a story or to monitor dreams, leaving little room for relaxation and sleep.

That’s okay, though; he’s always been a light sleeper, and though Logan—who slept whenever Thomas did and never anything more—can’t possibly understand how he can survive on just napping, Patton makes it work well enough.

And then there’s Virgil and Deceit.

When it comes to the anxious and deceitful Sides, they seem to have the opposite issue compared to the twins and Morality—that being, instead of sleeping too little, they slept too _much_ , or more often than not teeter on the edge of sleep and wakefulness with little control over where they’d end up. When they aren’t needed, they’re asleep—not necessarily of their own accord, either, but simply because having the two constantly present would hurt Thomas, and given their jobs, their whole purpose was all about survival, so it’d be contradictory to stick around for their own selfish desires at Thomas’ expense.

And sure, their presence has improved as Thomas has aged, but only because Virgil’s excessive worrying triggers Deceit’s self-preservation urges, which in turn keeps them up and alert for a good while—which keeps Thomas alert and, by extension, the others. And the moment Thomas calms down, that’s that—a switch is flipped, and they’re gone with a short goodbye and barely any time to register their heads hitting their pillows.

Or, well, pillow— _singular_. But that’s something they’ve yet to discuss with anyone other than themselves.

So, yes, the Sides and sleep have a strange relationship, putting a strain on their work, their relationships, and even their very existence. But, even though it is a frustrating, exhausting existence—unpredictable in every way—they make it work.

Virgil just wishes this particular fact of his life didn’t cause him to wake up at three in the morning.

He stares up at his ceiling with a hand splayed out across his bare stomach and his bangs hanging in his face, counting the seconds as he waits for a sign—either for this to just be the body’s way of making sure Thomas is still alive or for him to remain awake and let him get a start on the day, he isn’t sure. From within the darkness he hears the familiar chattering of Thomas’ worries from the day before, their words latching into his brain and attaching themselves to the inside of his skull like a parasite, digging into his skin and leaving him itchy and annoyed. Even with the knowledge that it’s the middle of summer and Thomas is all but baking in his bedroom, Virgil can’t help but shiver, the sweat sticking to his skin only worsening the urge to scratch, to jump out of bed and rouse Thomas into dealing with at least some of these persistent, insidious thoughts.

But then he feels a set of arms—then another, and one more—wrap around him, and the tension in his body relaxes. Even breaths hit the back of his neck, Virgil rolling over to catch a glimpse of the sleeping Side next to him, instinctively lacing his fingers with Deceit’s and smiling to himself.

He can’t remember exactly how long it’s been since they’ve been doing this—whatever _this_ could be called. Years, probably, though it feels like an eternity for him; certainly, it started before Thomas accepted him, and _definitely_ before Deceit and Remus had made their appearances. However long it’s been, their relationship has always been a private matter, hidden away, a secret between the two of them that neither felt the need to share with anyone else—and, really, it’s better that way, thank you very much. It’s only been a couple of years since Virgil’s acceptance, and the Others—especially Deceit—deal with animosity from the other Sides almost on a daily basis. Breaking the fragile trust between Virgil and Thomas just for the sake of _honesty_ feels dangerous, borderline catastrophic, if any of them hope to be a welcome part of the man’s identity.

And, well, all the Others can dream of is being seen as acceptable in Thomas’ eyes.

But even with this in mind, Deceit’s arms wrapped around him and eyes trained on the tufts of hair hanging in the other’s face, the scales shining down one side of his face and body unbelievably close to Virgil’s, the anxious Side can’t help the burning in his throat as he yearns for something so far from his reach.

The whispers grow louder, and ah— _there’s_ that familiar spike of anxiety in his chest. No way he’s going to go back to sleep _now_ , with _that_ rattling around in his heart.

Virgil groans, running a hand down his face and squeezing his eyes shut.

Well. It seems his day has begun, after all.

Looking back to the sleeping Side next to him, Virgil hesitates, pushing himself up on his elbows. He sits up, wincing when the bed creaks underneath him, leaning forward and planting a kiss on the other’s lips, fingers ghosting over Deceit’s cheek as he whispers against his mouth, “Love you.”

He notices the other’s eyelids twitch, but he gets no response.

Virgil’s smile curls in amusement. Quietly, slipping off the bed and feeling around the dark for his clothes, he dresses, making his way across his room until he stands in front of his dresser. He looks over the objects laid out there, memories displayed to indicate stressful but usually happy moments of Thomas’ life, before his eyes settle on a particular item—a trophy, small and circular in shape—eyes lighting up at the sight of it.

Picking it up, he tosses it around in his hands for only a moment before chucking it at the bed.

One of Deceit’s hands immediately snap up and grab it before it can collide with the wall, a single, golden eye glowing in the darkness, staring right at him.

“Do you intend,” he murmurs with a voice thick with sleep and mild annoyance, “to draw attention to us and bring the others here, or are you merely seeking attention?”

Virgil’s smile widens, “Morning. I was wondering when you’d join the party.”

“It is still the middle of the night.”

“Past midnight, though.”

“And yet, the sun has yet to rise, and Thomas is fast asleep.” Deceit sits up—still bundled up in the blankets, Virgil notices (probably to keep what little warmth he can manage to hold onto)—and sets the trophy aside, stretching as a yawn cuts off his statement. “How long have you been awake?” he asks.

“Only for a few minutes. Tried going back to sleep, but, uh, seems life has other plans.”

Instinctively, Deceit’s tongue darts out of his mouth—both a habit and a useful tool to detect lies—and, finding nothing out of the ordinary, he sighs, relaxing against the wall. He rolls his eyes, though a soft, almost vulnerable expression crosses his face, Virgil’s heart stuttering in his chest at the sight of it. “You have an awful case of bedhead.”

“And _you_ have morning breath,” Virgil responds, though there is little bite to his words. Deceit motions for him to rejoin him on the bed and he does so, allowing himself to be pulled against the other’s chest. “Sleep well?”

Deceit considers this, resting his chin on Virgil’s head. He hums. “I suppose,” he responds, shrugging. “However, I would argue I was more dead to the world than I was sleeping.”

“You know, if you say that around Remus, he’ll try to kill you and see what comes out of it.”

“And the moment he so much as attempts such a thing, I will beat him with his own Morningstar.”

“He’d like that,” Virgil snorts, hand reaching up to cover his mouth, “you know he would.”

“So, does that mean I wouldn’t get in trouble for doing so?” Deceit grins down at him, and Virgil’s face flushes, watching as that teasing gleam in his lover’s eyes grows stronger.

Virgil shoves him, “Both of you would be in trouble for being pains in my ass.”

Deceit’s grin widens, and Virgil realizes his mistake a second too late.

“Not—not _that_ kind of pain, you— _you_ —”

“I could certainly provide if you’d like,” Deceit all but purrs into Virgil’s ear, and Virgil hates how much that affects him. It honestly shouldn’t affect him as much as it does, and yet—

Deceit’s hands run down Virgil’s sides, and the anxious side bites down a shriek, squirming in Deceit’s arms as the other laughs, “ _Dee_!”

“Sorry,” Deceit lowers his voice, planting a kiss on the other Side’s cheek when he notices the slightly panicked look in his eyes. “You’re just easy to tease.”

Virgil pouts. Turning away, fidgeting with his sleeves and fighting the urge to lift his hand to his mouth and chew on his nails, he says, “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I sure am.” The other lifts his head, and Virgil feels one of Deceit’s hands combs through his hair, Virgil leaning against him with a contented sigh. Deceit’s hold around him tightens. “…I love you.”

Virgil hums. Tilting his head to kiss the other’s neck, he murmurs back, “I love you, too, Dee.”

Hours later, they’ll pull apart and prepare for the day, resigning themselves to their functions and putting on masks of mutual hatred and distrust to keep up the façade that everyone expects from them. They’ll cover up their secrets and pretend, for a while, that they’re enemies in the truest sense of the word—though taking caution not to leave scars with their words and always with the knowledge that behind closed doors, they’d have each other to turn to.

But for now, in the dark quiet of Virgil’s room, held in each other’s arms and whispering sickeningly sweet nothings as they wait for the sun to rise, they have this.

And though they may wish for more, for now, it’s enough.


End file.
